Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
it right. A few twists of a spanner and we were back on our way again, but five
kilometres later the sound returned. I started to worry. The noise was definitely that
of a hub in the process of devouring itself, but having tightened it, I couldn't guess
what the problem could be. Dismantling the hub for a full service was a process
of at least an hour, and our friends, who had stuck with us for most of the after-
noon, were getting impatient. I rode with them for another few kilometres, wincing
at each grinding metallic crack. Finally, they turned back to Taishet and I found a
shady corner where I could settle down and fix my machine.
An hour later, I was getting worried and Tim was getting bored. I'd dismantled
the hub, cleaned out all the ground-up little flakes of steel and iron filings, replaced
the worn ball bearings and reassembled the whole arrangement. But I couldn't
tighten the hub sufficiently. It took me another hour to pinpoint what was wrong.
The internal cone of my hub - one of the two surfaces which sandwich the ring of
ball bearings that allow the wheel to roll - had developed a hairline fracture and
had slowly cracked away from its position. As I tightened the hub, I was simply
pushing this broken surface backwards a fraction into the hollow interior. Before
long, the two rings of ball bearings would be pressed up against each other and the
axle would snap.
My bike was fatally wounded and I feared the worst. The closest replacement
hub that would fit my bike was the one on Tim's bike (I eyed it longingly for a
second), and the nearest one after that was probably at least another 5000 kilo-
metres away. It was time for desperate measures.
Carefully, I sawed off one of the aluminium legs of my camera tripod. I
shortened it and used it to brace the inside of my hub against any further collapse.
It was definitely only a temporary measure. Even if the brace did work, the cracked
surface of the cone would spin around like a grinding machine and slowly decimate
any ball bearing in its path. I carefully reassembled the axle, stood the bike upright
and realised that I was scared.
I explained the gravity of the situation to Tim, who summed it up neatly. 'Looks
like we're stuck in the shit then, doesn't it, mate!'
We wheeled our bikes back onto the road the next morning and I hopped on cau-
tiously. The brace held. Tim and I let out great whooping yells of jubilation. But
after ten kilometres I had to stop again and dig out my tools. The brace I'd made
wasn't broad enough to keep the bearings stable and my back wheel was wobbling
dangerously.
